


The Palest Ink

by MoiraiThanatoio



Series: Proverbs [1]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Betrayal, M/M, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoiraiThanatoio/pseuds/MoiraiThanatoio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick finally discovers why it was such an easy choice to leave his family and move to Las Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Palest Ink

The palest ink is better than the best memory. – Chinese Proverb

ggNSgg

Greg returned to the small table with their latest round. He handed Nick and Sara their drinks before taking his seat once more.

"So why do you think Grissom's such a cold bastard?"

Nick rolled his eyes. Both men knew Sara's flip-flop between Grissom adoration and frustration was due to his lack of response to her advances. It was Greg who replied, fanciful after a few beers.

"I don't think he's cold. I think he was hurt at some point and now hides himself away."

Sara almost snorted her own beer as Nick laughed at the youngest CSI. The Texan's drawl was only slightly thickened by the alcohol.

"Somehow, Greg, I have a hard time picturing Gris as a fainting Victorian heroine."

Sara pushed her drink away. It signaled the end of her participation. The two men were well aware that she couldn't risk driving impaired. Their group broke up with the casual ease of friends.

Nick hugged his windbreaker closer around him as he headed alone for his vehicle. Belying the intense heat of the day, desert evenings could often be quite cool. As he touched the door of his truck, he was overcome by a sense of vertigo that had him staggering against the cool support of the metal.

"One too many, Nicky? Or is this just a ploy to entice me in the parking lot?"

Nick felt the warmth of a human form against his back, a hand pressing against his side, as damp breath brushed his neck.

"Let's go home, Nicky dear."

The Texan spun, startled and scared by the assumed intimacy of the other person. He scanned the early morning lot but no one was there. For a moment, he wanted to discount his phantom as a result of an alcoholic haze.

But he knew he hadn't had that much to drink.

Nick climbed into his vehicle, breathing deeply. The moments were coming stronger with a greater frequency. At first, they were merely a tickle of remembrance at sounds or smells. But this wasn't the first that felt so real.

He put the truck in gear, heading for home, not quite sure if he was losing his mind.

ggNSgg

Warrick entered the office suite carefully avoiding the rug centered on the hardwood floor. Even from where he stood, the fibers appeared saturated with vivid, tacky crimson.

"Looks messy."

Catherine looked up from where she knelt and grinned wryly. "You should have seen it before David took the body."

He merely shook his head, gesturing to the file cabinets and desk that stood on opposing sides of the area rug. "Arterial spray?"

"Yep. Our DB, Dr. Michael Walters, appears to have been attacked while at those files, fell back onto his overpriced carpet, and bled all over the place."

Warrick hummed his agreement. "What do you need me to do?"

"Start tagging those files. They're probably medical records, so be careful. But if he was in them, then they may be connected."

ggNSgg

"Nick, can I see you for a moment?"

He paused in the hallway, waiting for his shift supervisor to catch up. "What's up, Cath?"

She pulled him by the arm into the break room, luckily empty. Her face was wreathed in concern, causing him to review his actions that day. There wasn't anything he could identify as needing supervisor oversight.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been a patient of my DB?"

Nick jerked back, startled. "Walters? I'm not."

"We tagged your patient file, Nick. Your name and social match the records."

"Catherine, I really don't know what you're talking about."

She was forced to believe him by the sheer confusion. But it didn't mean the concern could go away.

"I still need to ask you a few questions but maybe we should borrow Gris' office rather than an interview room."

Nick merely shrugged. He followed her to Grissom's office, empty at this time of day. Neither took the chair behind the desk, settling into the pair reserved for guests or CSIs called onto the carpet. Catherine started one of the ubiquitous mini-recorders before she opened an evidence folder.

"Can you state your full name and social security number?"

He rattled them off, patiently sure that this would be cleared up shortly.

"Are you, or have you ever been, a patient of Dr. Michael Walters?"

"No."

"A file was found in Dr. Walter's office indicating he treated you in Dallas for memory loss associated with a head injury."

"Shit."

Nick's unexpected epithet caused Catherine to look up from her papers.

"Excuse me?"

"When I was in Dallas, I was injured. I was in a coma for three weeks and lost a little more than eight months of my memory. I don't remember the doctor my folks hired to get it back, only that it didn't work."

Catherine fumbled the recorder off. "My god, Nick. Why didn't I know about this?"

He shrugged. "I assumed it was in my file from Dallas. No one asked about it during my interview here and I didn't bring it up."

Her eyes were large as Catherine commented, "That doesn't seem like the type of thing either Jim or Gil would overlook."

Nick could only shrug again. "Grissom was… weird… during my interview, but he never asked about it."

Catherine closed the file, mumbling almost to herself, "Grissom's always weird." She sighed heavily before shaking her head and refocusing on her work.

"Look, I had to ask. Your file was in a group this guy was looking at when he was killed. File a claim and we can give you a copy now and then the originals once the DA has cleared it."

Nick nodded as Catherine stood. She placed a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Take a moment for yourself before you get back to your case. I really didn't mean to bring up old memories."

He smiled good-naturedly as she left the quiet office. Grissom's space was always a sanctuary of peace in the otherwise frenetically busy lab. Pressing at the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger, he absorbed the quiet. Eyes closed, the faint lingering scent of Grissom's prissy teas vied with the lightest of noises from his insects.

"I know it's hard, Nicky love, but you're a damn fine cop. You'd be brilliant as a detective or in forensics."

Nick jerked his hand away from his face but the office was empty except for him. Cursing mentally, he went back to work. He would not let this get to him.

ggNSgg

He should be sleeping. Nick knew that if he didn't get enough sleep before his next shift, he'd be practically comatose at the scenes.

But the bound pile of photocopies taunted him from the kitchen table. The table was as new as the apartment around him. He hadn't brought anything from the home tainted by Nigel Crane. Only a long-ignored inheritance from his grandmother had made it possible to replace everything.

Now it seemed that everything new would be tainted by another case.

Nick tried to focus, dredging forth anything that would tell him why that patient file existed. He didn't remember being injured in Dallas. Not even a report could clarify the incident. He knew that his partner had been found dead while Nick was unconscious.

A familiar tingle of guilt pricked his mind over the partner. Nick didn't know why he'd had a new partner or why the old one had been reassigned. All of it occurred within his mind's black hole. Vague flashes of a hospital, knowledge that procedure required evaluation, this was all the active memory of that time that he retained.

The first independent and distinct memory after the void was his PD resignation and lab application in Dallas. All of it was pervaded by the idea that someone would be so proud. But now, even that feeling was suspect. His parents hadn't been proud of the career change – practically the opposite. His siblings had been eerily silent in their lack of opinion.

Nick was getting nowhere trying to force answers from a brain damaged by who knew what. He would have to read the file.

"Deep breath, my Nicky."

The phantom fingers carded through the longer hair he no longer had. Nick didn't fight the hallucination. It was the only comfort he had for his fear.

ggNSgg

It was rare that a shift was slow enough to allow a 'traditional' lunch hour. For Nick, it was more of a late dinner. Rather than food, he was consuming information from his photocopies.

The first part made sense to him. It was simply a summary of his injury and hospital treatment. Nothing there was any different than information he'd been told a hundred times. There had been indications of a grazing gun shot at the left side of his neck and a blunt trauma at his right temple. The second was presumably from falling, although there had been no witnesses to confirm.

Then he ran across a note that made no sense. From the scribbled abbreviations, his treatment had suddenly changed. Though his parents had funded this particular doctor, Nick had consulted several on his own. He couldn't recall any that had indicated hypnosis might be helpful.

The growing unease spiked when he found a notation. It was on a sheet for two visits before he'd been released. 'Target subject successfully blocked in patient per W.S.'

"What the hell?" Nick asked in an undertone as he stared at the page.

"Hey, Nick?"

The Texan looked up at Catherine's low-voiced inquiry. She closed the door after her, a precaution he hadn't taken. Nick turned over the papers in front of him, getting ready to stand.

"Assignment for me?"

"Uh… No."

Catherine's hesitation had him pausing as well. He didn't rise as she pulled up a stool to the table.

"We closed the Walters case."

"Okay…" He paused, waiting for her explanation.

Catherine breathed deeply, steadying herself for unpleasant news. "He was killed by one of his patients. She found out that he was being paid by her family to alter her behaviors and memory through hypnosis."

Nick ignored the faint trembling in his hands. Denial was the only form of bravado left to him. "Why are you telling me?"

She frowned with a vaguely parental concern. "The cabinet your file was in… It only contained similar patients."

He looked down, the faint shiver body-wide. There was a vague sort of reflection in the steel table, triggering a voice that he knew could be only in his head.

"Hold tight, Nicky. I want you to watch yourself as I fuck you. See how beautiful you are to me."

Catherine broke the spell with a hand on his shoulder. "Finish your shift if you can. If you need some time off, just let me or Grissom know. I've already approved it just in case."

Nick nodded tightly, not answering verbally. He wasn't sure he could speak without breaking down. Something may have been done to him by the people he trusted most in the world.

ggNSgg

Later, in the locker room, he knew he'd have to take some time off. He'd wrapped up his paperwork like an automaton as he considered whom from his family he could call. Unsure, he used his cell phone to dial the only sister who shared his odd hours.

"Mary, it's Nick."

They shared effusive greetings, bringing a smile to his face. He was the youngest but Mary was barely a year older than he was. It had always made them close within their extended family.

"Spill, Nick. It's not like you to call out of the blue."

Nick hesitated a moment before asking, "Do you remember anything different about the time before I was hurt?"

Her sharp intake of air and the sudden silence told Nick he'd asked the right question of the right person.

"Do… Do you remember, Nick?"

"No… But I found my patient file from afterwards. It may not be due to the accident that I can't remember."

There were muffled sounds on the other end of the phone. It sounded vaguely as if Mary was sniffling.

"I knew you didn't just forget him… You were in love."

"Him?"

Nick's sharp question broke through his sister's emotions. She recovered quickly, probably due in part to her work.

"Nick, I'm being paged. I've got to go."

"Mary…"

"I'll run home on my lunch hour. Dad had me help close your apartment while you were in the hospital. I kept some things he never saw. There's an all night shipping place around the corner. You'll have the box by noon tomorrow."

"Mary…"

"It'll be okay, Nick."

She disconnected, leaving him with even more questions.

ggNSgg

Nick knew he was attracting attention with the way he was pacing the hall. He'd tried waiting in the locker room or break room for Catherine. It hadn't worked. He'd felt constrained by each space after his talk with Mary.

"'Rick!"

The CSI paused for his coworker. His friend's mild impatience was obvious as Nick looked up and down the hall.

"Where's Cath?"

"She went home from the scene."

Nick resisted the urge to slam his fist against a wall in frustration. Warrick, reading the anxiety, reached out to him.

"Are you okay?"

The Texan shrugged free of the touch. His claustrophobia was increasing by the moment. He wanted nothing more than to be safe – to be home. Warrick could only watch as Nick headed off without another word.

ggNSgg

"Gris, got a minute?"

The night shift supervisor looked up from his pile of first-of-the-night mail and messages. There was the perpetual flash of something in his eyes before the usual Grissom black inquiry came forth.

"How can I help you, Nick?"

Nick fidgeted in the doorway. He made no attempt to enter the office fully or settle. Grissom's head cocked as he observed the nervous movements.

"Catherine said she'd leave you a memo… Something about my leave time after a case."

The instant concern radiating from Grissom couldn't have been faked. "Are you alright?"

Nick waved the inquiry away. His gaze skittered between the wall and the terrarium. He missed the slight tightening of the older man's jaw.

"Can you jut let her know that I need a week? I'll call her later."

He didn't wait for a response, ducking back into the hall. Grissom stared after the departing figure until long after he was no longer visible. He sat behind his desk, massaging the headache that began to bloom behind his eyes.

"Anything, Nicky."

ggNSgg

Nick stared into the glass in front of him. The room around him was both familiar and discomfiting. This was – had been – his kitchen table. He knew the ceramic top and its ivy-inscribed tiles. But he didn't remember why he was here.

The hands that settled lightly on his shoulders startled him from his introspection. They tightened momentarily when he tensed to stand. Unable to rise, he raised the glass and sipped. The alcohol had an odd sweet flavor he couldn't immediately name. Thumbs caressed the tense muscles on either side of his neck.

"We knew your parents wouldn't be happy, Nicky. I know that doesn't help… But…"

He broke in with a question. The words came out of his mouth but he felt like a stranger was speaking. "Do you love me?"

The soothing pressure on his neck eased. One hand stayed on his shoulder. The other feathered into the longish hairs on the back of his head. It was a sudden recollection that his parents had also found fault with that.

"More than I ever expected I could love anyone."

The ringing of a phone drew the man away from his back. He turned, looking towards his companion.

ggNSgg

Nick woke with a gasp to the continued ringing. It wasn't his phone but the doorbell. Stumbling out of bed, he was barely awake as he answered the door in his pajama bottoms.

"Nick Stokes?"

The delivery driver was perky in his white and purple uniform. 'Fed Ex' blared in bold from multiple appliques and embroidered points. After signing and accepting the shoebox-sized package, Nick re-locked his door and armed his security system. It was an automatic movement these days. Motion sensors would have been ridiculous while he was home, but this at least tracked the opening of any door or window.

He settled at his kitchen table. It was unremarkable pale pine. The cardboard box was a threatening menace. It silently taunted him with answers as he poured a glass of apple juice and started the coffee maker.

It was just after noon as he pulled out a chair. His hand clenched almost too tightly on the steak knife he'd pulled to slit the tape. Noting the envelope taped to the side of the shipping label, he cut it open first. The page inside was a single sheet with his sister's distinctively loopy script.

Nick – I couldn't get much from the apartment under Dad's eye. But when the letters started, I saved them. I never opened them. Call me and remember that I love you no matter what.

Nick's hands were shaking as he cut open the box. Even tired, he approached it with the detached methodical categorizing of evidence. The items came out and were separated into piles. Only when the box was empty did he move it to a chair next to him.

Now he had a small stack of unopened letters. There was also a padded envelope, also unopened, that he placed with the letters. He had a brown letter-sized envelope marked 'pictures' in his sister's writing. Finally, there was a small pile of loose ticket stubs.

He first took the stubs in hand. Flipping through them, he saw museums, opera, and theater. The dates covered the six months before his injury, increasing in frequency the later the dates.

Frustrated, he simply dropped them in the box. Lifting the pictures envelope, he eased back the sealing prongs. Worried about what the enclosures might reveal, he paused.

Nick took a moment to pour himself a cup of coffee before returning to the table. He looked to the envelopes for any clue on what he may find. They were of little real help. His old address was written on each one in an oddly familiar hand. The return address was Las Vegas but unrecognized. He smiled at the stamps. He remembered this series – 'Birds of the Desert.'

Sighing, Nick spilled the contents of the 'pictures' envelope onto the table. It was disappointing. There were only a handful of snapshots and one overturned piece with a professional watermark on its back.

He picked up the amateur prints first. It was him, smiling. Nick couldn't recall ever being as happy as he looked in those pictures. They were several Dallas locations he recognized and what looked like a college campus. He was in a suit, casual clothes, or his PD uniform. None provided missing answers.

Dropping the snapshots into the box, he turned to the last picture. Turning it over, he froze. Then, coughing and cussing, he jumped from his chair brushing at the coffee spilled across his pants. Unwilling to continue this process either nude or damp, he hurried to his room to change.

Returning to the kitchen in jeans and a T-shirt, Nick first wiped up the floor. He gathered the broken pieces of the mug and dropped them in his trash. Clicking the coffee maker off, he decided to get a bottle of water out of the fridge rather than risk further burns. But when Nick sat again at the table, the picture was unchanged.

It still showed him and Gil Grissom.

They were both dressed in fairly nice suits and at some sort of cocktail party. In the picture, they were posed intimately close. Nick clearly had his arm around the older man's waist and smiled at the camera. Gil had his arm around Nick's shoulder but his face was turned to look at the younger man.

Most disturbing to Nick was the expression on Grissom's face. As he looked at Nick in that frozen moment in time, he had the most pure smile of joy and happiness. Nick couldn't ever recall seeing anything approaching that expression on his former supervisor's face.

Nick stared hard. His jaw ached with the tension of trying to force the memory. The photograph was evidence. Evidence didn't lie. But Nick had no recollection of Grissom before his Vegas employment.

Hoping that the letters would explain, he laid the photo to the side. It wasn't put back in the box. Instead, he propped it against his empty juice glass. He took only moments to sort the envelopes in date order. Oddly, the thickest fell last.

Confused, his head aching, Nick slit the first envelope. Inside was not a letter but a note card. It had a moth on the front. Smiling at the odd confirmation that it wasn't a trick of the light but actually Gil Grissom, Nick flipped it open.

Nicky – As you're not answering your phone and don't have a non-work email, take this confirmation that I made it home safe. I miss you already. Hurry out. I eagerly await you. Love, Gil.

Trying to be impartial, Nick glanced at the now empty envelope. It was postmarked two days after his injury. Tucking the note card back into the envelope, he opened and read through the next few. The same note cards were used each time, though the creature identified on the front rotated through a series of four. The messages were similar. Each expressed concern at the lack of contact.

Then, on the sixth card, the content changed. It was dated nearly two months post-hospital.

Nicky – Please… Call, Write, Page, Email… Just contact me, love. I didn't know you had been hurt. I would be at your side but I don't want to jeopardize your reconciliation with your parents. Know that I love and miss you. Gil.

The cards continued for four more months. Each ended with love. Each spoke of calls rejected and contact attempts rebuffed. They revealed that mail sent to him at the PD or his parents was marked 'Return to Sender.'

Finally, he was left only with the padded envelope. Nick hadn't noticed the tears that etched his cheeks. If asked, he could have said the expression of grief wasn't for him. Fearing the end of these ties to a forgotten history, Nick slit the last envelope.

Tilted, a hunk of amber slid into his palm. Held to the light, he recognized the creature frozen inside. It was a phasmida – a walking stick.

Oddly, this he remembered. He knew it had been a gift from Gil's mother at her son's college graduation. He remembered Gil keeping it in his pocket. He'd seen the older man rub it absently as he thought. Wary, Nick read the included notecard.

Nick – It's been six months and I can no longer justify forcing myself upon you. Your loyalty to your family is only to be lauded. Please keep this as a token of the great esteem in which I will always hold you. Find someone who can make you as happy as you truly deserve. Grissom.

Nick's hands were shaking as he returned the final card to its envelope. Unlike the others, filled with love, concern and longing, the last nearly echoed with distance and regret. His hand ached as the amber cut into his palm. He'd been happier not knowing what had been taken from him.

ggNSgg

Grissom cornered Catherine hours before night shift officially began.

"Don't you have tonight off?" she asked with an unsurprised acceptance of his presence.

"Did you get my email?" he redirected abruptly.

"About?"

"Nick."

"Yeah. I put the paperwork for his leave through to Ecklie."

"Is he okay?"

Catherine frowned. She couldn't recall Grissom expressing this level of concern for a CSI unless their life was threatened.

"As okay as someone can be when they find out their memory is screwed up."

"His memory?"

"Nick was hurt in Dallas…"

"It's in his file," Gil interrupted.

Catherine mouthed 'okay' before trying again. "He apparently doesn't remember most of the year before that injury."

"What?"

Grissom had gone an impressive shade of white for a living body. Catherine's eyes narrowed as she looked at her coworker and friend.

"I gave him some time off because we found indications that Nick's memory loss was intentional. A doctor had been taking payment to repress patient recovery."

Catherine was left alone to roll her eyes in indignation. Grissom had stalked off without even the courtesy of a goodbye.

ggNSgg

This was quite possibly a mistake. Gil could acknowledge this even as he stood outside the single family home with cooling take-out. He knew this home was owned by Nick Stokes. What he didn't know was if he would be welcome.

Of course, the three attempted but quickly disconnected calls to his cell from Nick did indicate that this might be highly appropriate.

His knock at the door was answered promptly.

"Gris."

Nick seemed surprised to see him despite the calls.

"I thought you might like some dinner," he managed in a surprisingly even tone.

Nick hesitated, his hand clenching rhythmically on the door.

"Chinese," Gil tried to tempt with the faintest twist of his lips.

As Nick stepped aside, the offer had obviously been accepted. Grissom stepped in, immediately identifying the kitchen in the open plan design. He halted at the table, only half hearing Nick speaking behind him.

"I didn't even know I was hungry until you showed up with food."

"You always forgot to eat when you were upset," Grissom commented distractedly. His hand had reached out towards the picture still on the table before withdrawing when Nick stepped up beside him.

"Nicky?"

There was an untapped depth of emotion in that one word. Nick couldn't make himself look at the other man even though Grissom's gaze was a tangible thing.

"I…"

His voice trembled. He swallowed heavily. As he absently palmed the amber from the table, he tried again to respond.

"I don't remember. I didn't know we'd ever met before I started this job."

Nick finally looked at the man beside him. He watched the tender hope being locked behind Grissom's usual detachment. Gil set the bag of takeout on the table and stepped back.

"I should go."

"Can you stay? I'd really like to know."

Nick gestured vaguely at the picture. It was clear from his expression that Grissom would rather be locked in a small room with Conrad Ecklie. But, he acquiesced.

"You eat. I'll talk."

They settled at opposing sides of the table. Nick dug into the bag, unsurprised to find the food to his personal preferences. From the way Grissom sat and folded his hands, this story would be told with the distance of any case's recitation. Only when Nick actually began to move food from the containers into his mouth did Grissom start to speak.

"Approximately two years before you were hired in Las Vegas, I received an offer from the University of Texas at Dallas. I took a leave of absence from the department and signed as an adjunct professor of forensics and entomology for two semesters. After finding an appropriate long-term stay hotel, I arrived a month before my contract began."

Grissom's hands twitched slightly. He stilled them through willpower before he continued.

"On my second day in Dallas, you pulled me over for speeding. Most of the CSIs keep their driver's license with their work ID. You wrote me a ticket and chastised me for trying to use my position here to get out of it."

The bite dropped from Nick's chopsticks to fall into the takeout box. "I did what?" he asked with an astounded grin.

For a moment, the detachment disappeared and Grissom smiled. It was gentle with real affection. His eyes were vaguely unfocused with his reminiscing.

"I was… irritated… to say the least. After contesting the ticket, it was expunged. You were annoyed with me but agreed to have lunch. We met as friends for several weeks but by the reception at the university, we were dating. By the time I began my second semester, I had moved into your apartment."

Grissom paused, looking pointedly at the uneaten food. Nick took a bite before remarking, "Seems kinda fast."

"So your partner indicated when he requested a transfer. Your parents also referred to this when they asked me to leave you."

"What?" Nick knew there was a level of involvement he wouldn't like, but still found himself shocked.

"May I finish, please?"

Grissom's question was asked with a level of hesitation that Nick was unaccustomed to hearing. The younger man nodded. He'd known how hard this was for him but it was becoming clear that it wasn't any easier for Gil.

"When I returned to Vegas, you had already negotiated an early end for your lease. You had planned to follow me at the end of the month. Two days later, you were in the hospital."

Grissom's voice broke. Before Nick could say anything, the older man was continuing in an almost dead monotone. "I tried to call the hospital. They wouldn't tell me anything because your parents had me blocked. I knew it would be pointless to try and show up."

His fingers uncurled from their cramped embrace. He gestured faintly at the amber chunk near Nick's elbow. "If you received the letters, then you know the rest."

"Gris… I… Why haven't you ever said anything?"

"If you preferred to pretend it had never happened, I was prepared to accept that decision. There was nothing to indicate you truly did not remember. Even less to show any overture would be welcome."

Nick was quiet for a long time. Grissom finally stood when the silence became too uncomfortable.

"I should go."

Nick copied him, setting aside the rest of his meal. "You don't have to," he offered, but they could both tell it was halfhearted at best. At the door, Nick silently offered the older man the amber-encased insect.

Gil refused it with a shake of his head. "I gave it to you a long time ago. I wouldn't know what to do with it back at this point."

Nick watched the older man walk to his truck, wondering if he'd referred only to the fossilized chunk. His mind suddenly remembered Greg's words.

"I don't think he's cold. I think he was hurt at some point and now hides himself away."

Gil Grissom was neither cold nor unemotional. He'd taken a risk, offered himself in love and passion and been hurt as badly as a person could be. Nicky had ripped his heart out, the Texan realized as the older man drove away without looking back.


End file.
